WILLOW'S POV.
I went in and grabbed a basket from the closet, tossing in cleaning supplies—detergent, rags, a mop. My stomach twisted as I stared down at the trail of blood. Whoever—or whatever—this belonged to, I wasn’t leaving it for someone else to find and ask questions I didn’t have answers to.
I stepped back into the hallway, taking a deep breath, and started cleaning. My movements were methodical, even as my mind raced. The rag soaked up the dark streaks of blood, leaving pale, clean marble behind. Turns out the blood was more than I realized, which surprised me. How could someone leave this much blood here without being aware of it? The metallic scent lingered in the air even as I cleaned.
Halfway down the hall, a voice broke the quiet.
“You really moved fast, huh.”
My hands f
